His Sammy
by Lady Ayuka
Summary: Dean had only looked away for a moment-not even. Sam goes missing from a bar. When Dean finds him will he be able to protect his Sammy? Now complete!
1. Dean

**Warnings: Bit of violence, nothing too graphic. Lots of brotherly love, I can't even deny.**

Dean had only looked away for moment—not even. His eyes were always fixated on Sammy. Except for that one instant when he instead turned his attention to the busty blonde that had practically crawled into his lap. He couldn't see the harm in it. His baby brother had been sitting at their table, being a prude as always as he searched for another hunt. Why couldn't he have a little fun? Sure, Sam was only seventeen, but he could take care of himself for a few minutes, right? Not like he was being anything other than sullen, sulky and bitchy lately anyway.

He had talked her up and they had been ready to leave, and from the way she was squirming were likely to not even make it back to the hotel, when he'd looked up to alert his brother to his departure. But all that awaited him was an empty chair and an open laptop. He tried to tamp down his panic, he really did. Sam was probably just hitting the head and then Dean'd feel like a real idiot, especially after practically telling the chick to get lost as he headed for the men's room. But that sixth sense he'd forever had with his Sammy had never been wrong before and it was going crazy now. Something was wrong. No way Sam would leave his laptop just sitting there. He loved the damn thing too much.

A quick check of the empty men's room proved his suspicions correct and Dean felt a hole begin to form in his chest. A black hole, sucking away all of his breath and leaving nothing but painful emptiness. He couldn't keep the panic at bay anymore as he tore out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, looking wildly around the street.

That was when he heard it, the scuffling coming from the ally. Too subtle for normal ears to ever pick up and a noise he would've usually ignored. But when it was followed by the pained whimper of a voice he knew so well he didn't even think. His gun was already out as he rounded the corner.

There were six of them. Six overgrown men who looked like they hadn't bathed in a month. They all wore leather and had a wide variety of scars. Looked like real bad asses. One had a gun of his own, another a switchblade. They were circled around something on the ground. The whimper came again.

Sammy—_His Sammy_—was on the ground, his face being smashed into the dirty gravel. His eyes were unfocused and glassy. He was confused and he was in pain and that was all Dean needed to know. He barely even recognized his own voice as a growl of pure rage ripped out of him. These men, these filthy, disgusting, _vile _men had had his Sammy pinned to the ground. Had his Sammy's hands bound. Had a gun to his Sammy's temple and a blade to his Sammy's throat. Had _his Sammy's pants yanked down around his knees._

Dean was an excellent shot under normal circumstances. But right now he was pissed. So far beyond pissed that he couldn't even breathe. But he could aim with dead on precision. It took only six shots and all men were on the ground. Some were lucky enough to receive only head shots, quick deaths. Some, like the man who had been about to mount his baby brother, had received their bullet through their neck and got to die with their lungs filling with their own blood.

"Sammy?" Dean worked through the red haze. Sammy was more important than his anger. So much more important. "Sammy? Hey, c'mon, kiddo."

"De?" Sam's voice was weak and raspy. His face was beaten. Whatever drug they'd given him hadn't been enough. His Sammy had fought and fought hard. A swell of pride overcame Dean for a moment before he remembered that they were in the middle of a nasty ally and his brother still had his hands bound and his pants down.

"Yeah, Sammy, I gotcha, hold on," he murmured as comfortingly as he could as he lifted his brother's large frame into a sitting position after working his jeans back up. Sam leaned forward, resting his head in the notch between Dean's shoulder and his head as Dean worked on the knots at his wrists. He could feel Sam's breath on his neck, bursts of oxygen that were being sucked in and forced out far too quickly. "Hey, hey. Sam, I need you to calm down, okay? C'mon, kid, steady your breathing. In and out. Just like me. You can do it. I'm right here, not going anywhere."

He could feel Sam try as he finally got the rope untangled from his arms. As soon as he was free, though, Sam was throwing himself at Dean, his breaths coming out as unsteady sobs into Dean's chest, his hands grappling at any part of Dean he could get ahold of.

"Tried, Dean, tried to get away. Couldn't move the way I wanted to, so heavy. So scared. They were gonna—and I couldn't—and you weren't there. So scared, Dean."

"I know, Sammy, I know. I gotcha now, though. Won't let anything get you, you know that. Always here. Always." Dean closed his eyes as his vision pulsed red again. How dare these men lay even a finger on his Sammy? _His Sammy_. His.

He could feel Sam shuddering against him despite the fact it was the dead of summer, the shock finally setting in. Dean only tightened his hold.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the room, okay? We'll order a pizza and get some sugar in you. We'll sit back and watch whatever crappy movie is on TV. How's that sound?" he asked as he lifted Sam up, shouldering most of the kids weight.

"Really? But… weren't you picking up a girl?" Sam asked as he swayed and then clung closer to his older brother. Dean couldn't stop the bewildered laugh that escaped him.

"Trust me, Sammy, don't worry about it. No way is some bimbo ever gonna be more important than you, kid. Not ever." And he meant it, too. He had raised the kid. Sammy belonged to him and no one else. Not even their father could stake as big a claim on the kid as Dean. His Sammy. Always his. He would give anything to his Sammy.

They were quiet as the slowly walked to the car. Of course, the cops should be there soon. Someone was bound to have heard the gun shots. So they probably should've been hauling ass out of the joint. But Dean couldn't make himself move any faster.

They didn't hear the sirens until they were pulling onto the next block and Dean made sure to keep a steady speed so as not to draw attention. He kept an eye on Sam the entire ride home and then had practically carried him inside. Kid was getting huge.

He could only make him stay awake long enough to down a coke from the soda machine and didn't have the heart to wake him when the pizza finally arrived. Instead he sat on the bed, leaning against the headboard, Sam curled up against his side with a sure grip on his shirt that didn't even slip in unconsciousness and crappy late night TV in front of him.

A breaking news report interrupted a re-run of Married With Children to announce that six bodies had been found in the ally next to Jimmy's Pub And Pool. That was the only warning he got and not five minutes later his cell was ringing.

"Dad?" Dean knew what was coming.

"Those six on you?" His father's gruff voice answered. No '_hello, son, haven't really talked to you in the last week. How are you and your brother doing? Sorry I couldn't bother to spare five minutes to tell you I was alive when I clearly have the time to just sit around and watch the news.'_ Nope. Just straight to business.

"Yes, sir," he answered steadily. There was no point in lying to the man.

"Why? We don't kill humans, Dean," John's voice was angry. He was just a step away from losing his temper. Dean knew the tells. More often saw it directed at Sammy, but he knew.

"They tried to get Sam, dad. Protecting Sam comes first." And it did. Always had. Sammy came first, before everything and anything. Sammy came first.

There was a long silence as his father thought this over. "You and your brother alright?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good job, son. I'll be back tomorrow. Be ready to move. Watch out for your brother." And that was it. John never had been one for pleasantries.

Dean shook his head as he threw his phone onto the nightstand and flicked off the TV. He curled around his Sammy, as if trying to form a barrier around the boy.

"Dean?" Sam breathed, stirring slightly.

"Right here, Sammy," Dean pulled his brother closer, hugging him to his chest and placing one arm around his waist while carding his other hand through Sam's unruly hair softly. Sam snuggled in deeper and let out a contented sigh.

"Thanks, De. For saving me," Sam was fading quickly, his voice already slurring with sleep.

"Always. I'll always be there to protect you, baby boy," Dean promised. A promise he would keep if it killed him. He would do anything for his Sammy. _His Sammy._ The most important thing in his world. Dean would always protect his Sammy.


	2. Sam

**AN: A lot of people were asking for more of this. And most of the requests were for John's POV, which I **_**will**_** be working on next but I can't make any promises. I, personally, hold very little love for John and I'm not sure how well I'd be able to write his mindset but I will try! I know it's been long overdue, but here's Sam's POV! Hopefully I was able to get it right ^_^; Review and let me know what you think! And as always, thanks for reading! 3**

Dean was at it again.

Sam wasn't really surprised. Never was. The moment they walked into the bar it was as if he ceased to exist and all his brother saw was beer and girls, as it always was. And so Sam did as he always did, set up shop at a table in the corner that was still in his brother's line of sight and got to work finding another hunt.

Using his fake I.D. he ordered himself a beer, needing the alcohol to dull the burning in his arm where a spirit had slammed him to the ground earlier in the day. Dean had been livid about it. And Sam, not wanting to make it a bigger deal then it was, had insisted he was fine. Which he was. Just a little sore.

The beer tasted more bitter than usual but he played it off as nothing. It was probably just shitty beer. Wasn't like this hole in the wall was first class.

That's when the room started to spin lazily around him and his head began to feel like it was about to float right off. Panicking, Sam tried to catch his brother's eye. But Dean had a girl in front of him now, a sly smile spread across his face and he knew it was pointless.

"What do you say we step outside?" A gruff voice asked from behind him as a hand fell on his shoulder. Everything was in slow motion as he turned. The man's silhouette was blurred around the edges. He was wearing nothing but leather and denim.

Slowly, or so it seemed to Sam, the man pulled him to his feet and began leading him to the door. He wanted to protest, but his limbs had lost their strength. He tried to yell, but his tongue was thick and useless in his mouth. All he could do was stumble after the man as he left the bar and pray that his brother had seen him.

Five men were waiting for them in the alley and Sam cursed his luck. Stupid Winchester luck. If it had only been the one, he'd probably be able to fight him off. But six? And in his state? That didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

When they were close enough Sam made his move, swinging his arm out and landing his elbow in the first man's gut. The guiding hand on his shoulder fell away instantly and Sam turned, his intention to run, but whatever drug had been slipped to him was taking a harder hold on him and he instead stumbled into one of the others. Their faces all blurred together after that as they shoved him back and forth between them.

He tried desperately to fight back with the strength he had left, he really did, but it was a futile effort. In no time at all they had him on the ground, his face pushed into the gravel, his arms bound tightly behind his back.

"What do you want?" He slurred breathlessly, surprising even himself that he still had the ability to talk. His breathing was turning erratic as the panic set in more deeply.

"What d'you think?" One of the men above him demanded incredulously. Sam really didn't know, his brain too sluggish to catch up. But as soon as he felt his pants being ripped down to his knees there was no need to guess.

Sam fought harder, kicking out blindly and twisting on the ground like a fish out of water. Anything to keep them away. Anything to stop this from happening. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. He fought _monsters_ for crying out loud. No way could this happen to him because of some humans.

The feel of the gun barrel to his head was a familiar one, as was the knife to his throat, commanding him to stop. Stop or die. It was his choice. He was about to make his choice—he would rather die than live through that—when he heard it. The sweetest sound in the world: his brother's voice.

"Sammy!" The sound of gunshots filled the air then, six gunshots, one right after the other, and the sound of bodies hitting the ground around him. Sam was still hyperventilating when his brother reached his side and pulled him up. He didn't even realize Dean was speaking to him.

"De?" His voice was raw as it clawed its way out of his throat. He could feel the warmth of blood oozing down his face. He could taste the iron of it in his mouth. He felt so tired.

"Yeah, Sammy, I gotcha, hold on," his brother soothed as he straightened Sam out, pulling him up into a sitting position as he refastened his jeans. Sam let his head rest on Dean's shoulder, too tired to lift it as his brother set out to untie the knots holding his arms together. "Hey, hey. Sam, I need you to calm down, okay? C'mon, kid, steady your breathing. In and out. Just like me. You can do it. I'm right here, not going anywhere."

Sam hadn't even realized he was still breathing so erratically, the bursts of air filling and leaving his lungs so quickly that it made his chest burn at the strain. He worked on steadying it then, trying to make his murky brain concentrate on this one goal. As soon as his arms were free, though, he couldn't control himself any longer.

"Tried, Dean, tried to get away. Couldn't move the way I wanted to, so heavy. So scared. They were gonna—and I couldn't—and you weren't there. So scared, Dean." He couldn't breathe again. He grasped at Dean frantically. He'd never felt this afraid and vulnerable. He had almost been raped. He had been seconds away from dying here in this alley. If Dean had been just a minute later he would have only found Sam's body, bleeding out onto this filthy ground. The thought of it terrified Sam. It had been so close to becoming reality.

"I know, Sammy, I know. I gotcha now, though. Won't let anything get you, you know that. Always here. Always." Dean was trying so hard to sound calm and soothing but he wasn't quite managing it. Sam could still hear the terror in his voice.

Sam could feel his body begin to shake as coldness set into his limbs, despite the fact that it was the middle of July. Shock, he was going into shock. By the way his brother's arms tightened marginally, his brother had noticed it, too.

"C'mon, let's get you back to the room, okay? We'll order a pizza and get some sugar in you. We'll sit back and watch whatever crappy movie is on TV. How's that sound?" It took Sam longer than it should've to process the words. And suddenly he was being lifted up to his feet, Dean grunting as he shouldered most of his weight but not stopping for a second, even as Sam swayed.

"Really? But… weren't you picking up a girl?" His brother seemed to find this hilarious as he barked out a laugh.

"Trust me, Sammy, don't worry about it. No way is some bimbo ever gonna be more important than you, kid. Not ever." And Sam believed him. Much as his brother may get angry or annoyed with him he still took care of him, still went out of his way to make sure he was healthy. And Sam felt ashamed of his earlier thoughts, of his earlier anger because he knew, _he knew_, that when it counted his brother would never let him down, not ever.

It wasn't until they were about a block from the bar that he heard the sirens in the distance. Though his brother kept their speed steady he could see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He hadn't even thought of the bodies now lying dead where he almost had been. His brother had killed six humans for him today.

Once back at the hotel room, he could only stay awake long enough to drink a soda before he let himself fall into sleep, curled around his brother. After what felt like hours but could have been only minutes he felt Dean shift to curl around him in turn, as if creating a barrier against the world with his own body.

"Dean?" His voice was sluggish with sleep.

"Right here, Sammy." A hand began carding softly through his hair and Sam had to fight to get the next words out.

"Thanks, De. For saving me." The last thing he heard before he drifted off once more was his brother's soft voice.

"Always. I'll always be there to protect you, baby boy."

And he felt safe.


	3. John

John had just finished a job—werewolf in Augusta, Missouri, stubborn son of a bitch too—and was patching himself up when the breaking news report interrupted a rerun of Married with Children. Six found dead outside of Jimmy's Pub and Pool, gunshot wounds to the head, and his first thought was: _Dean_. He would never admit, not aloud and not to himself, but he was scared. What had his boy gotten into now? Was he okay? Was _Sam_ okay? And how the hell was he supposed to help, four towns and three hours away as he was?

Sometimes he hated himself for the life he'd given his boys. Sometimes he doubted in himself and his actions. Was what he was doing really right? But then he'd remember his Mary's face—_pale and screaming and begging, no, God, please, not her—_and he knew he had to finish this. Even if it meant his death he'd find the bastard that killed his wife, that did this to their family, and he'd send as many sons of bitches back to hell as he could on the way.

He barely even thought about it as he dialed his oldest son and it only took two rings and Dean's voice was quiet when he answered. "Dad?"

He wanted to sigh in relief, to ask if he was okay, to be the father he knew he should. But all that came out was a gruff, "Those six on you?"

"Yes, sir." The answer was steady, though John could hear shaky frustration underneath the level tone. Meek as he may seem at times, his eldest was a feisty one. And still, even as he fought a grin at the thought, he couldn't help but be angry.

"Why? We don't kill humans, Dean." He had said it again and again since day one. Yes, maybe they were killers, but they only killed those who hurt innocent people. They only killed monsters. They were never meant to _become_ the monster. He needed to know what had happened. He knew his son, at least enough to know he'd never kill _six people_ without a damn good reason.

"They tried to get Sam, dad. Protecting Sam comes first," the shakiness was back in Dean's voice. His son was afraid. And that alone would've been enough to send a shock of white hot furry and utter mind-numbing terror through John, but that it had been Sammy—and he still remembered that night with the Shtriga and the fear of seeing that thing standing over his child's bed—there weren't words for the emotions coursing through him. He wanted to bring those bastards back to life just to skin them alive and not stop until they couldn't even scream anymore. How _dare _they go after his son?

It took many minutes before he could calm down enough to speak but Dean waited quietly. "You and your brother alright?"

It should've been his first question, after all it was the most important. And not even John could deny to himself the feeling of immense relief at his son's strong and sure affirmative. He could feel himself go limp, bruised and sore muscles protesting at being tensed so long after going through so much abuse already. And he knew he had to end this conversation quickly before his emotions started getting the better of him.

"Good job, son. I'll be back tomorrow. Be ready to move. Watch out for your brother."

As soon as he hung up he let his head fall back against the headboard. He could have lost his son tonight. He could have lost them both. To a bunch of _humans_, no less. Sometimes, seeing all that he'd seen, he sometimes forgot that humans could be just as bad as any monster, if not worse.

He let out a long breath and tried to focus on the TV once again. Tomorrow he'd see them both again, safe and whole and _alive_. This wouldn't be the last close call with them. In their line of work there would doubtlessly be many, many more to come. But he just had to hold onto the fact that they were safe right now, they were alive right now, and that was all that really mattered.

Flicking the TV off in frustration and plunging the room into darkness, he lay out on the bed and ran his hand over the cold and empty space beside him, the space his wife was supposed to have occupied for the rest of his life. Signs had been popping up more frequently of demon activity, similar to those that had when Mary had been killed. It wouldn't be long now. A few years, tops. But soon this would all be over.

"I'm sorry, Mary. I'm so sorry. I love you."

Soon, this would finally end.

**AN: It's not as long, and not exactly what many of you had asked for, but here's John's chapter. It's really hard for me to write in his mindset, so I'm really sorry if I couldn't quite manage it T.T But hopefully it was acceptable nonetheless? Anyhoo, review and let me know what you think, pretty please? :) And thank you for reading! **


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